


You Mean to Say You've Been Under There This Whole Time?

by daroh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Episode: s02e06 Beauty and the Beast, Fantasizing, Fantasy, Imagined sex, M/M, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroh/pseuds/daroh
Summary: The missing scene of what Arthur was getting up to while Merlin was hiding under his bed.





	You Mean to Say You've Been Under There This Whole Time?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the mods; my beta, [mssdare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare); my mega-cheerleader, [Skitz_phenom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom); and Merlin chatzy, for telling me about the fest! :) <3 
> 
> Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

This would make the fourth night that Merlin was gone from Camelot—gone forever, if nothing could be done to get rid of the troll, Catrina, who was now not only the newly crowned queen but heir to the throne as well.

Despite Merlin needing to flee after Catrina accused him of theft, Arthur had doubted Merlin would really leave, wont as he was to cling to trouble. He’d actually hoped Merlin would stay hidden in the antechamber to Arthur’s rooms and had checked there for him several times over the past few days (as well as in the stables, the kitchens, and the armory), but he wasn’t anywhere to be found—truly—and the knowledge of it was piercing.

He felt instinctively that if Merlin were here now, he would think of a way out of this mess. After all, he was always coming up with some cockamamie plan when Arthur was being too sulky to be helpful. (He couldn’t help it; he’d been raised a prince, with his every complaint being attended to. It was a nice crutch and a tough habit to break. Merlin would nag him about little things, such as not being able to even dress himself—though he could, obviously—but when it mattered, Merlin was always ready to step in and help achieve the impossible, even if that was just making Arthur feel better.)

_Merlin._

Why not think about Merlin for a while and escape the doom and gloom of being disinherited? Merlin, with his long fingers that could be put to very good use, if the two of them could ever work up the nerve to do it. Sometimes, Merlin would tilt his head and crinkle his eyes in a certain way, as if he knew exactly what Arthur was thinking and was happy to tease him with it, fondling a sword’s hilt or running a hand up and down one of his own skinny thighs, all while licking at his plump bottom lip.

Merlin’s hands definitely looked strong, despite his general lankiness, and Arthur guessed they helped him work some magic on himself in private moments better than most men could do. How could he not, with fingers like that, just asking for a fat prick to curl around? 

Arthur’s cock would be perfect for them. It was good and thick—thicker than Merlin’s, he knew, from stealthy glances he’d stolen over the years while camped out in one forest or other. Now that he really thought of it, Merlin’s cock was probably _too_ thin for those long fingers. They probably wrapped twice around the shaft when he got a really good hold of it.

Maybe he didn’t toss off better than most men after all. Maybe he needed the help of Arthur’s hand, with its normal-length fingers, for most pleasurable effect. Maybe Merlin thought about that, too, as when he’d watch Arthur run the feather of a quill through his fingers, pretending to write some princely nonsense.  

They really did flirt shamelessly sometimes, Arthur thought, and yet they never, ever spoke of it. He wondered how far Merlin’s thoughts had gone. His own had traveled well beyond the bounds of what was probably even possible, though Merlin did seem very bendy. He had lots of energy, too. _Lots_. He had to, working for both Gaius and Arthur, all while seeming to run up quite a healthy tab at the tavern.

Between Merlin’s luscious mouth, nimble fingers, boundless energy and, really, the whole lean length of him, Arthur could imagine a great many things they could occupy themselves with on a leisurely night such as this.   

He was seated at the table contemplating these things, the room around him a clothing-strewn mess. It was suffering already from Merlin’s absence, but Arthur refused to have any other servant in his chambers, especially now, when he just wanted to sit and think about all the things he and Merlin could have got up to together.

(That they _would_ get up to. This Catrina situation had to blow over soon. It was too ridiculous not to.)

He leaned back in the wooden chair, his gauzy white sleeping tunic ballooning then collapsing against his chest with the movement. The light fabric and the gentle flow of air felt good. He liked the feeling of soft cloth against his skin, despite sleeping shirtless when Merlin was around. At first he'd gone topless as a favor to Merlin, who seemed like he could use an eyeful of a proper masculine physique. But Arthur quickly realized that he rather liked feeling Merlin's eyes on him, liked when Merlin couldn’t keep his gaze from following the muscled lines of Arthur’s chest and stomach, and then roving lower, when he really couldn’t help himself.

Arthur stretched his legs out under the table and loosely palmed his groin. His cock was half-hard already from his line of thought, and it seemed like a good idea to keep encouraging it, distracting himself from his current troubles. He gently rubbed his length a few times, letting his head fall backwards to focus on his body’s awakening to the sensation. He started unlacing his trousers, but then slowed his progress, deciding he wanted to tease himself a little more first. There was certainly no rush, since all his duties had been taken away and there was no risk of being interrupted with Merlin gone.

He’d stolen one of Merlin’s neckerchiefs from Gaius’s quarters when he'd gone searching out possible hiding spots earlier in the day, and he stood up now to get it, his trousers loosened enough to fall around his ankles. He stepped out of them, one foot pushing down the fabric on the opposite leg, and vice versa, then walked to the wardrobe where he’d hidden the scarf. It was dirty, found in Merlin’s washing pile, but that was what he wanted—one that still smelled like Merlin, and that might even still be a little damp from the sweat on his neck, Arthur could imagine. He thought of the hair that curled at Merlin’s nape, thought of licking and sucking kisses on the back of that neck while he reached around Merlin’s hips to stroke his cock instead of his own, which would be pressed up to Merlin’s arse, finding its own friction.

He brought the red fabric to his nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled delicious in a sort of vulgar way, and it was as arousing as he'd hoped. “You really should wash more, but thank god you don't,” he mumbled.

His right hand was slowly coaxing his cock, but this—standing half-naked in his chambers at twilight, his nose buried in Merlin’s scarf, stroking himself a little dizzy—this still wasn’t enough. He’d had too rough a week not to make this a lovely, long, drawn-out wank, with all the teasing he could offer himself. It wasn’t often he had this kind of time on his hands, with Merlin as good as glued to him all the time.

He hopped on the bed and lay back, trying to picture Merlin in the darkening room. Where would he be standing? By the bed, of course. He’d be lighting a candle, as it was too early yet to call it a night.

Arthur leaned over and found a matchstick to light the candle on his nightstand. The soft glow of the light gave the room a rather seductive glow, Arthur thought. Merlin might give in to him on an evening like this. He might walk over to Arthur lying on the bed and ask coyly, “What are you doing?” and Arthur might languidly turn and show Merlin—tall, lean, plush-mouthed Merlin—just what he was doing.

He propped one knee up and angled his body, as if facing someone standing at his bedside. He smiled at this Merlin-in-his-mind. “What does it look like I'm doing?” he said, enjoying the little role play.  

Imaginary-Merlin’s eyes grew wide as he looked down at Arthur making a show of slowly pumping his cock. Arthur felt like Morgana must when she enters a banquet hall, all bare shouldered and bedroom-eyed—except with him, now, this wouldn’t look ridiculous. This would be _hot_ , showing Merlin the sizable cock that was on offer to him.

Merlin’s mouth—that ridiculously plump mouth—would gape, and he’d stutter, “I—I—.” Arthur would say, “You what? Speak, Merlin.”

He realized he’d spoken aloud again, but also that he kind of liked it. It felt a little dangerous to be so bold, even alone in his own room. It made him thrill a little more with lust, and he kept going. He and this imaginary Merlin were going to be absolutely filthy.

“I know you’ve seen my royal cock before,” he teased.

He was getting himself impossibly turned on, stroking himself, and picturing Merlin looking at him as if Arthur were a pitcher of water and Merlin would die without a sip, though he’d greedily take much more if he were allowed.

“You’re so thirsty, Merlin,” he ground out. “You should go ahead and drink,” he said, pressing down around the head of his cock to stretch the foreskin tight, displaying a tantalizing bead of pre-cum at the tip.

He gasped a little at the sight, imagining Merlin seeing it. “Merlin,” he whispered as he gave in to a few hard strokes that his body was craving.

He thought he heard something like a whimper close by, and his mouth quirked into a smile as he congratulated himself on just how imaginative he could be.  

Not needing the oil, but wanting it in order to mimic the feel of Merlin’s wet mouth on him—because of course imaginary Merlin wouldn't be able to resist this opportunity to lick and suck at Arthur's prick—he pulled open the nightstand drawer and grasped at keys and trinkets and other noisy things until he found it.

Once he had the vial, he lay back on the bed again and poured some of the oil into his hand. He made an O with his fingers and thumb, then slid it slowly, tightly over his straining cock, pretending it was Merlin’s mouth sinking ever so teasingly, deliciously over his prick, taking him in until his mouth reached the base and met the hinge of Arthur’s thighs.

Arthur’s head crashed backwards into his pillows. “ _Gods_ , Merlin, _yes!_ Oh, 's so wet!” He tried to resist stroking too fast, wanting this to last, this feeling of Merlin’s mouth on him, even if it really was just his own fingers. The sounds of his oiled cock fucking up into his slicked fist were exquisite, and they helped make it seem even more like this really was Merlin's mouth he was fucking.

He thought more about how Merlin would be angled, with his nose pressed up between Arthur’s bollocks and arse every time he took Arthur's shaft all the way to the root, and he moaned again.

Arthur gripped the base of his cock for a moment, trying to steady himself. God, thinking about Merlin was going to drive him mad, and it was glorious.

He grabbed for the neckerchief that lay beside him and pushed it up against his nose, wanting to breathe in something Merlin-y and earthy, something that smelled like Merlin's sweat that would be beading on his skin from all this activity, from the roiling heat of skin-on-skin between them. He inhaled as deeply as he could, then held his breath and started pumping his cock again, faster and more thoroughly than before.  
  
“Merlin, your mouth, ’s so good. Let me feel...let me feel those fingers, too. Come on, use those fingers on me.” He needed all of it, all of the sensation he could get from this. The scarf infusing his breaths with Merlin’s scent made it seem almost real. He left the fabric over his nose and dipped his left hand down to his crotch, letting his fingers swirl in the oil and fondle his balls a little. He moaned with the pleasure of it all. He imagined Merlin’s mouth continuing its ministrations, pictured the back of Merlin’s head bobbing up and down between Arthur’s legs, that gorgeous neck exposed and waiting to be massaged and encouraged. Arthur would massage it, yes, while Merlin’s slicked up fingers would reach around and find Arthur's hole.  
  
“Demanding, aren't we?” Merlin might say. But no—he wouldn’t interrupt anything to speak. (Well, he would, because he was Merlin, but right now he wouldn’t, not in Arthur’s fantasy.) He’d just hook a long, beautiful finger inside Arthur and start gently pulsing it deeper and deeper, easing Arthur into an accommodating stretch. It wouldn’t take long for Arthur to be ready for two fingers, two gloriously long fingers, and oh, they would hit that little knot of nerves, just there...like that...and...

“Mer—! Mer—!” Arthur huffed out, his climax imminent. He might burst from the stimulation of being in Merlin’s hands and mouth and catching the scent of him everywhere.

The onslaught of sensations brought waves of arousal that couldn’t possibly be sustained, and he crested over the edge, finally. He was panting and kept brushing his fingers against that sensitive spot a few knuckles deep in his hole, pumping his cock as streaks of come coated his chest in weakening pulses.

The sound of his quick, shallow breaths seemed louder as he calmed down. He hadn't spent that fiercely in ages, and it felt royally amazing.

If only Merlin really had been here with him. Oh well. “Next time,” he said to his imaginary lover, “you can fuck me.”

The bed, oddly, seemed to answer with something that sounded like a croak or gasp. Arthur froze for a moment but then realized he was probably still just imagining Merlin’s reactions, even if rather vividly.  

He thought about using Merlin’s neckerchief to clean himself up, but he knew he was going to want to use that bit of fabric again—maybe even in a few hours—and having his own dried spend on it would certainly put a damper on its appeal.

Reluctantly, he got up and walked over to the table. There was a tunic hanging over a chair, and he wiped it across his stomach and chest, then threw it onto a dresser in the corner, where a pile of laundry was already well on its way to toppling.  

He put his sleeping trousers back on, but decided he’d prefer to wash up more thoroughly. He had gotten himself pretty well worked up, after all.

There was a water basin near the window, but it was empty. He threw on another shirt and left the room. He walked down the corridor until he stumbled upon a servant carrying linens somewhere. “Can you fetch me some water, please, and bring it to my chambers?” he asked.

“Of course, my lord,” the startled woman said.

Arthur retreated back to his rooms, where, before too long there was a knock at the door. It was the servant with the water, and Arthur told her to put the pitcher on the table. “Thank you, that will be all,” he said.

She curtsied and took her leave, and Arthur sighed. He poured some of the water into the basin, took off his shirt, and made quick work of rinsing his chest, stomach, back and face, then his cock, balls, and arse. He put his trousers and gauzy tunic back on (he really did prefer sleeping in one) and climbed back into bed, feeling all his of muscles relaxed and heavy with sleep.

He blew out the candle on the nightstand and settled in, ready to dream of Merlin. He imagined his plump lips saying “Goodnight, Arthur,” and he smiled at the thought. He felt himself begin to drift off into a nice, soothing sleep.

“Aaaarthur,” he heard suddenly from some corner of the room. He looked around, still mistrusting his own ears, then heard it again, unmistakable: “Aaaaaarthur.”

He jumped out of bed, unsheathing the sword that lay close at hand in case of just such an intrusion.

“Who’s there!?” he demanded.

Suddenly, _Merlin_ shot out from under the bed, his head comfortably perched on one of Arthur’s lavishly embroidered pillows. He was grinning like a fool, or like someone who had just heard a hell of a lot more than he was supposed to.

 _Shit_.

“You’re back,” Arthur said.  
  
“I never left!” Merlin said, seeming positively gleeful, which was almost more worrying than him being there at all.

“You mean to say…”

“Yes!”

“You’ve been under there this whole time.”

“No. Of course not. No.” He was shaking his head in a way that somehow meant both definitely yes and definitely no.

“Because if you were…” Arthur pointed the sword at Merlin, hoping to seem more menacing than horrified. He was burning with the idea that Merlin may have been under there the entire time he’d been busy with imaginary-Merlin. What were the chances he'd only come in during that small window of time when Arthur had gone out to fetch a servant?

“I wasn’t. I swear,” Merlin said, still sounding equally earnest and full of shit. “So, your, er, your stepmother is a troll,” Merlin blurted out, as if trying to distract Arthur from the subject at hand.

Arthur walked to his desk and sat down, worrying over the fact that there wasn't anything he could do about whatever Merlin may or may have heard while under the bed.

Luckily, Merlin had other things to keep them busy right now, such as getting rid of Catrina by feigning Arthur’s death. Merlin helped Arthur dress, and before long, Gaius was in his chambers, handing Arthur the lethal potion he needed to drink in order to save his father.  

Of course, this potion-drinking plan hinged on Merlin saving Arthur at the last minute with an antidote, but, despite his dramatic objections to the contrary, Arthur knew he was in good hands; good, skillful hands, with long, gifted fingers...

He looked at Merlin and realized, not without some horror, that he half-hoped Merlin _had_ been under the bed the whole time.

With that distressing but exhilarating thought, he drank the potion and collapsed into Merlin’s arms.  


End file.
